The House Which Time Forgot, The Following Four Days
by VictorianChik
Summary: Sequel to Sideways. In short chapters, the four days that follow. Harry may be the hero of the Wizarding World and an eighteen-year-old Auror-in-Training, but managing Snape while Snape is managing him (taking out his slow, slow revenge) is exhausting. But Harry is as resourceful as ever and welcomes the challenge of taking care of Snape taking care of him.
1. Prologue

Prologue

The snow had mostly melted, but Harry crept outside slowly, edging the door closed behind him so it wouldn't make a creak. He had shoes and a coat on, and he just wanted to look over the winter plants and peek into the greenhouse.

Snape had stopped teaching a half year ago, coincidentally when Harry had graduated from Hogwarts. Harry had gone in the Auror program, and he had set up a small horticulture and herbology business for Snape, mainly to keep the man busy with something to do all day. They spent weekends planting, trimming, and preparing plants for sale. Harry hadn't expected it to be more than hobby, but the owl orders kept coming in and Snape's reputation spread until Snape was fairly busy.

Ginny, Ron, and Hermione had visited over Christmas break a month ago, and Harry had used the greenhouse as a place to make out with Ginny while Ron and Hermione helped Snape package up mandrake roots. Harry hadn't been brave enough to do more than peek a kiss on her inside the house, but in the privacy of the greenhouse, well . . . he felt less restricted.

Harry rushed into the greenhouse and breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn't been caught.

Four days, since Madame Pomfrey had released hum from the hospital wing, four days since they had come back to their house, four days since the end of Voldemort – and Snape had been insufferable. Harry had been prepared for Snape's usual temperament after fights with Voldemort – fussing and austerity in near bipolar fashion of switching back and forth while Harry just had to survive the mood swings. He understood that Snape hated feeling vulnerable, and that included worrying about Harry, whom even after all these years Snape would barely admit he liked.

They had lived together in the house or at Hogwarts for six and a half years, but Snape kept that protective wall up as best he could, snippy and grouchy and cold except in the few moments that Harry caught him unaware. Theirs was an odd relationship, but Harry liked it. Snape gave him something to fight against, to hone his wits, to clash with so he could feel like a normal teenager rather than the out-cast freak of his younger years.

Snape was good for him and he was good for Snape. It gave Harry something to do in the ordinary moments of life – rather than sink into boredom, he had daily challenges like trying to contact Ginny without Snape finding out or sneaking in handfuls of candy undetected – once he had kept a baby snake for a week without Snape finding out (well, he found out eventually when the snake hid in Snape's shoe one morning, but it had still been a whole week of secrecy before the snake had to give away the whole show).

Even at eighteen, there were boundaries to push. Not because he wanted to be a rebel, but because Snape needed to feel needed and that his authority had value. Harry went out of his way to leave coats and shoes in the hall, empty cups in his room, and scraps of paper all over the house just so Snape could storm around, billowing things like, "You are the messiest prat who ever lived. I can't go one day without tripping over your things. I have better things to do than pick up after you, a full-grown man who acts like a blasted toddler."

Then Harry would mutter "Sorry" and pick things up, and Snape would feel guilty over supper, and he would eventually ask Harry about his Auror training, and then they got to spend the evening talking about the best way to fight against the Dark Arts. Tiring, but a good system that Harry had worked out so Snape wouldn't feel too threatened. It was a fine line to walk – letting Snape take care of him while letting Snape slightly bully him while Harry actually took care of Snape.

If Harry acted too beaten and submissive, Snape was all self-loathing and upset that he had broken his adopted son. If Harry was too stubborn and aggressive, Snape retreated into the silence of self-pity, wounded that no one needed him. Often Harry had to switch between the two temperaments several times in one day, just to keep Snape smoothed out.

A hard dance to dance, but someone had to do it.

But good grief – Snape had been dreadful this time. Harry had resigned himself to just endure Snape until the man was done . . . expressing himself. But this – this was something new.

With a shutter, he recalled the torments that he had endured in the last four days, starting with that first morning.


	2. Day 1, Early Morning

Day One, 4:01 am

Light broke into his dreams, and Harry groaned. "What – what's wrong?"

"Up," Snape declared in a voice far too loud for the middle of the night. "Into the bathroom."

"Are we under attack?" Harry shoved his glasses on, reaching for his wand.

"No, leave that. It's treatment time."

"Treatment?" Harry groggily followed him into the bathroom off his bedroom. "I'm fine – whoa!"

Snape's magic had lifted him into the tub, and two buckets of cold water rose to splash over him.

"Ah, you – you monster!" Harry barely kept himself from swearing. "Are you insane? It's January! I'm going to catch pneumonia."

"That's only if you stay in the cold too long," Snape ran his forefinger over his wand. "I'll give you some privacy for the heat part."

"Heat?" Harry struggled to sit up in the tub. His flannel pajamas were soaked to his skin, and his teeth chattered as he gripped the edge of the tub with icy hands. He looked up at the man – but there was no darkness around him, nothing other than Snape's patent smirk whenever he thought he was getting the upper hand and making his adopted son suffering. So, normal Snape.

"Cold and hot to help you heal. I have a few potions for you to take afterwards."

"Come off it – I said I was sorry. Just rag at me for a bit. I promise I'll look ashamed and I won't argue –"

Snape Apparated out of the bathroom. The door shut, and hot air started billowing from vents that appeared the walls.

"Of course," Harry stood and began stripping off his wet nightclothes, "don't explain anything to him, your only son, just do whatever you like because you know he won't put up a fight."

Harry considered putting up a fight. He didn't have his wand, but he had enough magic to summon it or escape by blowing a hole in the wall. Well, maybe later.

He wrapped himself in a towel and sat down on the tile floor, hoping the heat wouldn't be unbearable the lower he got. His glasses started steaming so he took them off. The whole bathroom was humid and sweltering; the mirror fogged and the window went white with condensation before drops of water started running down the glass.

Harry was sweating freely by now, all traces of cold gone. It was little scary, being trapped in the bathroom while hot, steamy air kept blowing in. Surely Snape wouldn't just leave him here for hours – Snape had to know that wasn't safe.

He didn't have his wand. If he had brought it, he could cool some of the air.

Apparation! Oh, he could Apparate. Harry gave a short laugh; he forgot that he could Apparate just like he rarely used magic inside the house. He used magic all the time in training, but once he came home, he tended to depend on his own physical skills. This was mainly because Snape gave him a look every time Harry pulled out his wand, and the look was always so aggrieved and hurt as if Snape only realized that he was of age when he used his wand. Harry found it easier to tuck his wand away and wash the dishes with his hands or sweep manually (though when Snape was out in the greenhouse, Harry put all the kitchen to work cleaning with magic. He was a wizard, after all, and no one liked doing dishes.

He had only Apparated once in the house. Snape had been nagging him about some small thing, and in a snit of temper, Harry had disappeared up to his room to get out of the situation. He had felt guilty the moment he did it, and his fear had been that Snape would retreat in silence and abandonment at his son's disappearing act. Snape had chosen the opposite approach and stormed in his room.

"Don't you ever disappear when I'm talking to you!" Snape had thundered. "I'm your father and you stand still and take what's coming to you, so help me, or I'll see that you never sit again."

Harry had stammered out an apology, but Snape had set him to a round of chores that had him working late into the night. He hadn't dared Apparate since then, even to go out to the backyard to check the plants.

That meant Apparating was out of the question now. Snape meant him to stay in there, heat and all.

Harry swiped a hand to wipe away his sweat. Apparating was cheating in a way, after all. If he couldn't stand the heat, he could bang on the door and beg to be let out, but just disappearing to a cool place was refusing to the play the game. And Harry Potter didn't cheat. Yes, Harry Potter sometimes chose words carefully so as not to upset some people and Harry Potter sometimes left out things that would upset some people, but he didn't cheat.

A jug of ice water appeared.

Harry grabbed it and gulped water down until a brain freeze made him lower the cold jug.

He pressed it to his bare chest, loving the icy feeling against his sweaty skin. He was about to drink more when the door opened.

"That's fifteen minutes," Snape came in with a large sheet. "Enough heat."

"Thank goodness," Harry stood.

Snape flicked his wand and the sheet came at Harry.

He stepped back, batting at it with his hands, but magic spun him around, sending the towel across the room, and the sheet wound around him from neck to feet.

"Ah, I'm trapped!" Harry tried to protest as he was floated out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. He was deposited on the bed, sitting up a little against the pillow, and then a blanket tucked over him.

"Not fair," Harry tried to squirm free. "You can't use magic against me."

"I'm not using magic against you," Snape came into the room, trying to hide his pleasure at Harry's discomfort and failing utterly to hide anything. "I have never done anything to you that wasn't for your own good."

"I'm not sick," Harry twisted in vain and then lay still. "And you would blow the roof off this house if I ever used magic on you."

"That's because I don't trust silly wand-waving from you," Snape put a tray, that Harry hadn't even seen, on the bedside stand.

Harry looked at the tray and the line of potion bottles on it. Thirteen, fourteen, _fifteen_ bottles! And a huge spoon. All of it, just lying there like torture implements.

"I'm not taking those," Harry clamped his mouth shut and stared straight ahead in determination. This was going too far. And being wrapped up like a swaddled baby was not helping.

"Oh, yes, you are," Snape patted his pocket where his wand was tucked. "I don't care if you're Stupified or not."

"I'll Apparated," Harry threatened.

"You do and it will be the last thing you ever do."

"Ugh," Harry flopped his head back on his pillow, "you can't just keep treating me – Gah!"

Snape has stuffed a full spoonful into his mouth, some nasty, thick goo that oozed down his throat. Harry considered spitting it out, but Snape was watching forebodingly so Harry swallowed.

"You are evil. I think you're Voldemort."

"Don't joke about that," Snape snatched up another bottle. "Don't ever joke about what happened."

Harry watched the brownish potion glop down onto the spoon like thick syrup. "Is it safe to take all these potions, one right after another? I mean, you froze me, then boiled me, and now you're going to poison me."

"Hmm," Snape considered the line of bottles, "you're right." He reached down and removed the fifth bottle. "There, fourteen potions should be enough."

"Aw, is this a version of those demented 'pretend' games you played my first summer? It's now pretend to play evil hospital with Harry?"

"Evil hospital?"

"It could be a game," Harry said. "I read this story about an evil hospital that did experiments on people for the fun of it and it was very scary."

"A Muggle story?" Snape asked with a warning in his voice as if Muggle stories suggested some kind of heinous betrayal.

"No, it was a story written by a Hogwarts student."

"Which student?"

"I'm not telling," Harry smirked. "And anyway, students are allowed to write creative stories though you'd never know it by the boring assignments we're given. Do Hogwarts teachers have their creativity stripped of them before or after they start teaching?"

"Are you trying to insult me?"

"No, I'm trying to squirm free, but you've wrapped me up too tight." Harry flopped his head back again. "Usually I can talk to you long enough to let me get away."

"When have you ever gotten away?"

"More times than I will ever admit. With you, I can talk my way into whatever I want. It's been six and half years, and I'm still here, and this house is twice as big. Ha, I win!"

Snape's face went tight, and he jammed the next spoonful of potion into Harry's mouth.

It was even nastier than the first. Harry tried not to gag as he took it down. So gross. He knew better than to taunt Snape too far, but sometimes the opportunities were just there, begging for him to take them. Snape always reacted which made it hard to resist poking at him, but Snape was radiating righteous fury now which meant small, petty acts of revenge and not open hurt or real punishment.

And Harry did recognize most of the potions as he had helped make them or carry them in. Most were health supplements; and then two calming draughts that were usually given to children throwing a tantrum (and had bad taste to punish the children for throwing the tantrum in the first place); a hydrating brew; and some kind of strengthening potion. Most of these potions were used for the sick or were used by those with little magic skills that relied more on potions for healing or health. There were a number of Squibs that requested brewed potions rather than raw ingredients, but those potions were for customers, not for light torture!

"You're wasting your own product!" Harry tried to protest.

"It's mine to use as I see fit," Snape poured out of the third bottle.

"I helped make them."

"You nearly ruined them. Open wide."

Harry considered flatly refusing, but he didn't want to be stunned, and he knew on some level that his discomfort was making Snape feel better. That made Snape a horrible person by normal circumstances, but . . . Harry remembered the way he had looked when Harry had woken from his coma. Harry had never seen a man look so tortured – stark agony written into his eyes and the lines of his haggard face.

"Fine," Harry took the next potion. He made a face and stuck his tongue out before scrapping it against his teeth to get the nasty taste off.

"So dramatic," Snape smirked in his infuriating way. "As if it wasn't for your own good."

"If I begged forgiveness on my knees, would you stop?"

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," Snape poured out another dose. "You act as if I enjoy seeing you like this. No, no, I don't enjoy this at all. But I consider it my duty," another dose shoved in, "to look after your health."

So Snape was determined to win this one. Harry gulped down the potion with narrow eyes. He would have to keep count. Once Snape's "treatment" reached the level to even out being scared that your adopted son would never wake up from a coma and you would have to watch him slowly die . . .

Harry sighed. All right, they had a ways to go. He would just suck it up – er, swallow it down and weather it out.

He balked after the eleventh potion. "No, no, I'm going to puke!"

Snape paused to let him drink some water, and Harry breathed calmly until the potions settled in his stomach.

"Three more," he panted. "I can do three more, but that's it. I can't take more than that."

"Fair enough," Snape reached for another bottle.

Once they were all swallowed, Harry made a series of faces to try to rid himself of the taste – everything from sticking his tongue out to breathing between his teeth to shaking his head.

"Such a baby," Snape gave him some more water.

"You don't like me when I'm grown-up and you don't like me babyish," Harry said, trying to not sound too snide. "If you didn't love me so much, I might think you didn't like me at all."

"Ridiculous."

"I am sorry."

"I just don't understand why it took you so long to realize that it was trap," Snape's voice was low as he corked the last bottle.

Harry kept swallowing to get the taste out of his mouth. When he felt Snape's hard gaze on him, he offered up, "I've told you a dozen times – I didn't realize it completely because it looked like it did when I got here years ago." He tried to shrug under the confining blankets. "All the details were the same. The letter let me know it was a trick – that Voldemort was trying to kill me. Thank goodness you didn't tell him about the letter."

"I never told him anything! He visited the house years ago. He probably constructed the illusion from that."

"It was a good illusion."

"It was not! You said you couldn't look at his face. You said you went out the front door and came in the back. You got a feeling of dread every time he suggested going to sleep. None of that is good."

"It felt so real."

"Did you try to attack him? Did you take a kitchen knife to him before he tried to kill you? Did you drive the knife into his face to see if you could cut away the darkness?"

"He looked like you. I wasn't going to stab you in the face."

"I had no face! I was an aura of dark evil that tried to convince you to die quietly. You can stab me in the face them."

"I got free."

"After nearly dying."

"You always take the negative approach – all glass-half-empty. I survived because I'm Harry Potter."

He hoped his mock arrogance would break the tension, but Snape kept glaring.

"Fine," Harry sighed, "next time I'll stab you in the face. Can I get up now?"

"No."

"Then can I go back to sleep?"

Snape growled something under his breath and stomped out. Harry squirmed down in the bed and closed his eyes. The potions were making him sleepy, and he was comfortably drowsy.

The sheet loosened and Harry turned to look at the clock. It wasn't even five yet.

As he faded off to sleep, he reckoned that as uncomfortable as the early morning had been, it couldn't get much worse.

Sadly, he underestimated the resiliency of one Severus Snape.


End file.
